Went a whole... Week without drinking, I think. It's the longest I've managed to hold myself off for a long time. Got to the point where my fingers were heavy and aching. My head was pounding, and instead of feeling irritable. Volatile. I only felt miserable. Depressed.

Some wounds don't really heal over too well. I guess, that much is self-evident. You can't just grow back a limb. Your rent soul doesn't just piece itself back together. So whenever the --- the nightmares, come around... I just drink. And I drink, and I drink, and a smile, a sneer -- they're the easiest things to come to me when my breath reeks of whiskey.

I usually take my mind off of things by robbing folk. By fucking folk. Wine, women, song. By indulging myself in every wrong deed there's to be found, but... Now that the Arrows are gone -- I'm left alone with Leigh, again. And every time I look into that fucking bird's eyes all I see is -your- disapproving stare, Leigha. And it's -almost- enough to make me stall my hand, when I bring the bottle to my lips. Almost.

It's tough, Leigha. But I promised I'd try to live for the three of us. The alcohol... Helps me live. That's all.